Dance with me, Malfoy
by kikistone
Summary: Following the chaotic ending of her engagement to life-long friend, Hermione Granger decided to take a much needed break from the public eye. Now she is making the decision to return to her own version of normalcy, but on her terms and with surprising allies at her side. Author's note: This is a story about Hermione with a side of Draco, not a full on dramione in the usual sense.


_Hello loves,_

_This is story was written to be my first story for the Wattpad platform; you'll have to let me know what you think of my writing when comparing MMA and this one. _

_I was inspired by a random musing I had walking down a random street in Paris to the tunes of Mint by Qveen Herby. _

_All the love, _

_K.S._

* * *

"The Minister for Magic cordially invites you to his annual New Year's Celebration," she groaned loudly, cursing out whatever deity was out there listening and sending this rotten lot her way. Blowing away at few chestnut curls that had fallen out of her messy bun and onto her face, she picked up the rest of the post her owl had dropped off earlier in the day. As was now the rule, among the many missives she had received from worried friends was, of course, the latest edition of Witch Weekly's 'Granger Hunt'. The annoying magazine had been trying to track her down ever since her engagement to Ron had gotten called off on her birthday. Now being December, they were desperately publishing whatever rubbish tip they got, or fabricated, on her whereabouts. The alleged 'hunt' was made all the more ridiculous when one considered the fact that they never bothered to try and reach out to her in the first place. "Not that I would answer, either wa—oh no," she said catching sight of the iconic red envelope. "Bugger."

"HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER!" the howler opened with a loud roar upon coming in contact with her trembling fingers; the brunette was certain this was caused by some charm placed on it by the terrifying Weasley woman. "HOW DARE YOU!" Ginny's reproachful voice became more and more like Molly's with every passing day. "I understand that _Bilius_ is a MORON," Hermione chuckled a little at all the poison her friend was able to imbue into her brother's god-awful middle name, "BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN YOU CAN CONTINUE TO LIVE IN WHATEVER HIDEOUT YOU'VE CARVED OUT FOR YOURSELF GODRIC ONLY KNOWS WHERE!"

"Try me," she mumbled stubbornly.

"WE ARE WORRIED SICK ABOUT YOU. HARRY IS BOUND TO DO SOMETHING INSANE IF HE DOESN'T HEAR FROM YOU SOON. I HAVE NOT SEEN OR HEARD FROM YOU SINCE SEPTEMBER." The possessed letter continued, "YOU ARE MY BEST FRIEND, BLAST IT ALL TO HELL! JUST… at least let _me_ know you are okay, please? I love you, you IDIOT witch." She felt a pang of guilt in her heart as the howler tore itself to angry shreds. She missed Ginny more than she cared to admit. Sighing to herself loudly, she looked down first at the shreds and then at the elegant invitation from Kingsley.

"Sodding conscience," she mumbled as she went to her desk and prepared a short missive.

_December 22, 1999_

_Dearest Gin, _

_I just needed time and space to catch my breath, and we both know I would not have gotten either with all of you rallying around me; as much as I love you all, our lot can be too much to handle at times. I hope you can understand or, at the very least, try to. That said, I just received Kingsley's New Year's invitation, please do not tell __anyone__, but I will be there. See you soon. _

_All my love,_

_H._

"Gigas!" She hurriedly called on the ironically named Little owl she had purchased following her disastrous birthday celebration. She needed to send out the message before she lost her nerve or changed her mind. "Take this to Ginevra Weasley, she might be either at the Weasley's family home, The Burrow, or at Potter House, 12 Grimmauld Place. Do not allow anyone else to receive it. Once you are done, do not come back here, but rather meet me at the house."

Once the bird was out of sight, lost among the clouds, she went to her nightstand and pulled out her wand for the first time in a while. Tears flooded her eyes as she felt a part of herself that had been dormant come back to life. "It has been a while, dear friend," she spoke to her wand quietly, which warmed on her palm as if embracing her. She had not put it past Harry to have somehow gotten a trace placed on her after her abrupt disappeared, so she had kept her magic use to a minimum.

"He might not be part of the Ministry, but his sphere of influence really knows no limit," she murmured to herself a bit annoyed, "or boundaries, for that matter". The only magic she ever used with any regularity was the floo network, and even that had felt, at times, like too much risk. "Not that it matters, anymore. Expecto patronum!" her otter came to her, "go to Kingsley and only pass on this message when he is absolutely alone: "Kingsley, I apologize for the secrecy and for the untraditional RSVP, but please know I will be at the party. I ask that you please not speak of this to anyone. I look forward to ringing in the new millennium with you and your beautiful family."

She did not bother identifying herself, knowing in her heart that the Minister would recognize her patronus on sight. With all her messages out, and having left herself no escape, she turned to the hole in the wall she had been calling a home for the last few months. "We had a good run," she said to the cottage after a swish of her wand had packed all traces of habitation from the place into her legendary beaded purse. No one would ever know how many tears she had cried in her Scottish hideout; nor would they ever comprehend how much soul-searching she had done every night until it was so late, it was suddenly early. "Mum and dad were right," she said to what used to be her living room as she began taking down her wards one by one, "some of the hardest work one will ever do is truly spending time with oneself, determining who one wants to be or become. And you," she said to the small room, "gave me peace, quiet, and a safe space in which to do that. Thank you." Without another word, she disappeared via floo, making a mental note to notify the Ministry to send a worker to disable the network.

* * *

"Mum! Dad!" She called loudly when she stepped out of the chimney and into the grand Edwardian house that was her parents' home. The colossal white beauty sat on one hundred and seventeen acres of prime real estate. With eleven bedrooms and even more bathrooms, her parents' place could only be described as a mansion. "I'm home!"

"Is that my beautiful daughter I hear?" her father asked as he hurried into the kitchen where Hermione was helping herself to a piece of her mum's signature pistachio-peach pie. Dr. David Granger, who stood at six feet two inches, was an attractive man. With only a few dignified grey hairs in his otherwise chocolate curls, his shiny blue eyes that made him look half his age, and his rugby player physique, he had always been one to make heads turn. Hermione's mother always said that he was made all the more appealing by the fact that he thoroughly ignored his own charm.

"Indeed, it is," she said as she felt his arms envelope her from behind in a paternal hug. She turned in the circle of his arms and hugged him back. "Hello, daddy." Her father held her for a second longer and finally let go.

"Helen!" he called in the direction of the sunroom, "Hermione's home!" Turning to his daughter he asked, "and to what do we owe this mid-week visit?"

"Oh, I—"

"Hello, sweetheart," her mother greeted as she took off the floppy hat she wore when she read in the sunroom, shaking out her honey and chestnut colored hair that fell down to her chest in natural waves. "I thought we said last weekend that we would not be seeing you until Christmas." Hermione's mum, much like her dad, had won the genetic lottery; with curves like a guitar and brown eyes with the smallest of golden flecks, Dr. Helen C. Granger was a beauty that would soon be entering her fifties looking better than present-day Hermione. It was no surprise that, at an early age, the witch had demanded she be shown proper documentation proving her genetic relation to the pair.

"As I was about to tell dad," Hermione chuckled, "I have decided it's time for me to go back."

"And you are sure you are ready for that?" his father question curiously.

Hermione had always had a very aloof relationship with both her parents in which she shared the bare minimum of her life, partly because of magic but mostly because it was just the Granger way. Following the war, and only after she was grounded 'at least 'til kingdom come' by both of her parents—punishment which she had accepted amidst happy tears and hugs—they had established a complete and total transparency policy at the Granger household. This meant that she told her parents about every little thing in her life and, in return, they trusted her to make her life choices as she saw fit, but only after they said their peace.

"Hermione, it has barely been three months, sweetheart," her mother voiced her concern.

"Mum," she said after swallowing some more pie, "A, this pie is delicious," she announced happily, "and B, I cannot hide forever."

"I'm glad you like it, sweetheart," her mum smiled. "Don't misunderstand me, Hermione, I am not saying you ought to hide forever," her mother reproved, "I am only concerned for your wellbeing. Harry visited again only yesterday—"

"He is really worried about you, darling," her father interjected as he gestured for her to sit, "you really ought to talk to him."

"—and he told us that those scavengers are still out hoping to catch a glimpse of you." Her mother finished.

"I know, but I need to go back. I cannot keep living in hiding," she said getting a napkin and taking the plate of pistachio-peach deliciousness over to the kitchen island, where she sat on one of the stools. "I need my life to go back to normal, or as close to normal as possible. That means going back to my apprenticeship, to Gin and Harry, and my other friends." She took a bite of pie as her parents joined her, one at each of her sides. "Besides, whenever I do go back it will cause a stir, be it in ten days or in ten years."

"True enough," her father granted. "So," he said after a long pause in conversation, "are you jumping off the deep end today?" she shook her head and swallowed what was sadly her last bite of pie.

"The Minister is holding his annual New Year's celebration, and he invited me. I already told him I would be there." She explained.

"How's that for a dramatic entrance?" her mother laughed good-naturedly.

"I am doing this on my terms, and my terms only," she announced, her mind made up.

"And we support you," her parents said in unison. "Have you given any more thought to our offer to move in with us permanently?" her mum asked.

"Yes," she smiled, "and I think you rightly pointed out that it would be good for me to not spend every single second of my life in the wizarding world."

"Well," her father interjected, "we just think it will be better for you in terms of privacy and the balance you have fought so hard to create ever since birthday-geddom."

"Besides," her mum added, "between your time at Hogwarts and our Australian adventure," there was still quite a bit of censure in her tone, "we have barely spent any time being an actual family."

"I know," Hermione deflated a bit, "it's part of the reason why I am moving in. I am barely twenty, there is plenty of time for me to go and live on my own later on."

"Exactly," her mum nodded, dropping a kiss against her temple.

"Like when you find someone worthy of you, at seventy, when I am dead a buried," her dad joked.

"Who knows," Helen shrugged theatrically, "maybe she will meet someone at the Minister's party."

"Over my dead body," her father announced casually. "Have you something to wear, darling? Your mum might have been joking before, but I think this occasion does call for some shock value."

"I was actually hoping you two wouldn't mind going shopping with me," she looked hopefully at her mother.

"Hermione…" her mother hated shopping with a passion. She preferred to spend her time out in the garden or sitting on her wingback in their home library; it really was no mystery where Hermione's bookworm ways came from.

"We'd love to," her father, her usual companion for this kind of excursion, assured her. "Shall we have lunch and then make a day of it in London?"

"I want to wear something that is exquisite," Hermione said excitedly.

"Is there ever any other option?" her dad wondered with a wink. Being an only daughter to two successful dentists meant that Hermione had grown up with all the spoils she could wish for, which in her case had meant, for the most part, a huge library at home and trips to the opera and the ballet. On the rare occasion, however, it also meant shopping until dropping with her father.

"We could try searching for a getup on Oxford Street since I have to stop by Gieves & Hawkes to pick up my new suit."

"Fancy," She remarked.

"Our family has been invited to a rather posh Christmas party." Her father explained in a snobbish voice that caused her to chuckle. "One of our old clients, who became a member of parliament, is throwing quite the bash."

"So, he decided to invite his former dentists over to celebrate Christmas?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"No," her mother got a good laugh out of that, "he invited his more notable campaign donors."

"Since when are you both so into politics?" Hermione felt like she had stepped into the twilight zone. Her parents, though concerned citizens, never went out of their way to the point of making sizeable donations to electoral campaigns, affluent though they were.

"Fitzwilliam was the donor, dear," her father explained, giving her an odd sort of once-over.

"Well, that certainly explains a lot," Hermione said with a small eye roll. Her mum's father, who had been estranged from them for the better part of Hermione's lifetime, had decided to barge into their lives when she was on her fourth year at Hogwarts. One day he just came, throwing money left and right, demanding her love and that she call him grandfather. She called him lord Cromwell, after all, it was the snooty Baron's proper title. "I am guessing I am expected to go as well."

"Only if you wish, darling," her father rushed to say.

"But it would mean a lot to my father, sweetheart, and to me." her mum knew better than to call refer to the man as her grandfather; as far as Hermione was concerned, her granddad Peter was the only grandfather she ever had or would ever need, and the sweet man had passed when she first went away to Hogwarts.

"Muuummm," she complained, "you just had to go and add yourself to the list, didn't you?" her mother shrugged sheepishly. "I'll think about it, and that is the best I can do for you," she said with distaste. "But now you are most definitely coming with us, no mysterious migraines at the last minute."

"Deal," her mother nodded. "Now, why don't you go up to yours, settle in, and freshen up for lunch. The faster we get going, the faster I can get back to my latest read."

"Will do," she said as she sent the plate and cutlery to wash with a a swish and flick that would have made Professor Flitwick proud.

* * *

"We will be waiting in the car for you!" her mom announced.

"Be down soon!" she called back as she rummaged through her beaded purse for the perfect coat to go with her look. Hermione was nothing else, if not stylish; everything from her Indian red pants to her black cable knit sweater and her cream flats screamed chic sophistication. She, like her father and her granddad before them, took great pride in her impeccable taste in clothes and manners. "Here they are," she said finding her cream coat and plaid scarf just in time to hear her father honk. "Ugh," she complained under her breath as she acciod her wayfarer sunglasses and apparated to the main foyer only to run out to meet her parents in the car. "What in the world?" she said once she had cleared the icy pavement and found respite from the cold in the warm interior. "When did you get a new car?"

"Do you like it?" His father asked, happily showcasing his newest purchase, "it's a Land Rover. The Queen drives the same one."

"Does she really?" Hermione asked impressed that the Queen, now in her seventies, still drove.

"Uh-huh!" he said searching in the glove compartment for a tape.

"It's very nice, but—"

"Expensive?" her mum supplied with a laugh.

"I was going to say unnecessary, but that too, I guess."

"Bah! You cannot take money with you to the other side, ladies," her father said as he begun the hour-long drive to London. "Besides, we have never hurt for money, especially since we sold the practice."

"There are more worthwhile endeavors than new cars, love," her mum pointed out.

"She's right," Hermione called out from the back seat, "like charities and medical research."

"And we do donate to both, but if you wish we can redouble efforts this year," her father granted as he pushed in a tape. "Can't you two just be happy for dear old me and sing along?" chuckling at his antics, the whole family belted the lyrics to 'Here Comes the Sun'.

* * *

"I love it," Hermione stated hours later as she stood in front of the mirror.

"Oh, thank God in the heavens!" sighed out her mother, who looked like she was about ready to collapse.

"Are you sure?" Her father asked ignoring his beloved wife. "I think it is quite plain, darling. I though your lot was a lot more, I don't know, over the top?" Hermione knew his father did not mean offense by his statement, so she simply continued looking at the way the rich fabric of the minimalist dress hung off her shoulders by the thinnest of spaghetti straps.

"I think she looks lovely," her mother supplied.

"You just want to go home," Hermione and her father laughed.

"True," her mother said coming to stand close to her, squeezing Hermione's shoulders lovingly, "but that does not negate the fact that you look like a vision in red."

"I am glad you like it," she said holding onto her mum's hands, "because dad is correct; this dress is not for my crowd, but for yours. I have decided to accompany you to Fitzwilliam's party."

"Pretty sure it is PM Alexander Baker's party," her mum said with a smile. "but thank you, Hermione."

"To be clear, though, I am doing this for you, mum."

"I know, sweetheart." Hermione nodded, closing the subject. "So, if this is your Christmas dress, what is your New Year's dress?" her mum asked.

"Someone get a camera quickly," her father said playfully, "Hellen Granger has just volunteered for further shopping!"

"There is always a first for everything," the alluded laughed at her husband's antics. "But, David, we should really go for your suit."

"We can wait until Hermione finds a second dress," he said batting the idea away.

"No, no, we are going to a different shopping district for that one," Hermione winked, "we can go to the tailor's now."

"Very well, off you go into the dressing room," Her father said as he went to the register, "I'll go pay."

Ten minutes later, Hermione quietly listened to her parents' happy chatter as she took in the sights. They had chosen to walk to Savile Row since it was so close, and parking would have been a veritable nightmare. What would have been one cold and uncomfortable walk was made into a pleasant stroll by three quick warming charms, courtesy of the family's witch. Sighing deeply, she stared off into the many stores that promised the ultimate bespoke suit crafting experience to all the gentlemen of the world. As she looked into the storefront of Henry Poole & Co. and wondered if there could ever be anything more wonderful than a man in a Savile Row suit, her eyes caught a rather bizarre scene taking place inside.

"No bloody way," she mumbled to herself as she came to a full stop. "Is that…?"

"Hermione?" her mother called from further down the street, grabbing her attention away from the store. Turning once more to look inside, she found no trace of the platinum blond head she could have sworn she had seen. "Hermione?" her mother called once again, sounding a bit concerned this time.

"Coming," she announced as she shook her head clear of what was clearly a hallucination.

"Are you alright, darling?" her father asked once she reached them. "Did you forget I go to Gieves & Hawkes?"

"No, sorry, I just thought I saw someone I know."

"I don't think I am mentally ready for you to start recognizing men in Savile Row, darling," her father said pouting.

"Don't worry, daddy," she chuckled. "I am sure I was wrong". After all, the very last place the man she had hallucinated would ever be caught, dead or alive, was a muggle establishment.

* * *

"How do you want to do this?" Her mother asked, as they found the nearest deserted place in order to apparate.

"Well, I am going to put a disillusionment charm on myself, which will make me disappear for all intents and purposes, and then I will apparate us to Diagon Alley, where we will go to Madam Malkin's."

"Oh, I like that store," her mother surprised her by saying. "That mirror, while quite horrid at times, is infinitely interesting. But, sweetheart, are you sure they won't tell on you at the store?"

"I'm certain. Madam Malkin and I became good friends after the war when we were part of the restoration efforts for Diagon Alley. Remember, talk to each other whenever you want to talk to me so as to not tip anyone off."

"Certainly. Lead the way, then," her father said offering an arm to each of them.

"Ready?" Hermione asked after her body had disappeared. Seeing both her parents nod, and taking one last look around for muggle eyes, she sidelong apparated away.

"Ugh," her father complained as soon as he got his feet under him once more. "I am still not used to that."

"I know exactly what you mean," his wife said taking short breaths so as to not puke the lasagna they had had for lunch.

"Very well, we are going left, right, Helen?"

"Yes," Hermione whispered into her mother's ear.

"Indeed, dear." Madam Malkin's was, thankfully, quite an iconic store that was hard to miss, even among its colorful surroundings. When they arrived, the short, plump owner of the store, approached them.

"Good afternoon, dears," she said with a confused smile, "are you alright there? You seem a bit out of your element."

"Hello," Hermione's father greeted, "My name is David, and this is wife Helen, our daughter told us that maybe you could help us?"

"And how can I be of service?" the lady asked confused, and, after taking in the muggle clothing, "who did you say your daughter is?"

"Her—" his wife cut him off before he could put his foot in his mouth.

"She said you two became good friends over the restoration efforts of the Alley, she was a Hogwarts student?" The witch's eyes lit up in understanding.

"Am I right to guess that my dear friend will be joining us today sooner rather than later?" the Grangers nodded. "I see. Please go through that door on the right, I will be there in a few minutes, dears." As they made their way to the adjoining room the witch had indicated, the Grangers saw her close down the store, and make her way to the remaining clients already inside.

"You weren't kidding," her mum said to Hermione as she got rid of the charm. "This lady must really like you, she just closed shop for you!"

"That I do," said the mauve-clad woman as she joined them. "Hermione, my dear, how have you been? No one has heard from you in months, and I have been on pins and needles hoping to hear from you."

"I am sorry I've had you all worked up, Metis, but I promise you I am fine," she assured her friend. "I just needed some space after that circus of a mess, and I—"

"Never mind that, dear, you do not owe anyone an explanation, least of all me," she said dismissing the topic, an earning the respect of the Grangers. "You were in a relationship and now you are not. End of story. Tea, couture, or both?"

"Both," said the three Grangers.

* * *

By the time the family had gotten back to their car, night had fallen, and Hermione's mother was eager to return to the peace and quiet of their home. They were truly knackered after such a long day out and were planning on brunch the next day so that they could sleep in late the next morning.

"Once we get home I am taking a shower and then straight to bed." She said to her husband, "There is still lasagna from lunch, which you can reheat, love, or you can cook something for you and Hermione if you'd prefer."

"What do you think?" her father asked.

"I was thinking popcorn, wine, and a film," Hermione announced sleepily from the back seat.

"Sold. Besides, it's my turn to choose," her father reminder her.

"So long as it is not a horror film," Hermione reminded.

"Men in Black?"

"The perfect balance of action, sci-fi, and comedy?" she asked excitedly, "yes, sign me up!"

"Nerds," her mother sassed from the passenger's seat.

"The nerve," Hermione gasped in faux outrage.

"How dare you, Mrs. Granger?" her father asked following along in his daughter's game.

"Excuse me, but that is Dr. Granger to you, mister," his wife sassed. "I did not nearly go blind from studying to graduate first in our class for you to call me missus."

"Aye, aye, captain," her husband said as he blew her a kiss, making Hermione laugh.

"Godric, I love my parents," she said to herself as she shifted in her seat and fell asleep.

* * *

"Have you noticed how quickly dreadful events seem to approach as compared to other things that one actually looks forward to?" Hermione complained as she joined her mother by their library's fireplace.

"I believe Einstein called this phenomenon relativity, sweetheart," her mother said calmly, looking up from her book. "Am I correct in guessing this is about the fact that in a couple of hours we will have to go over to MP Baker's home for the party?"

"Yes," Hermione sighed. "What is the name of my school, again?"

"The Ministry made it so that all your paperwork says you graduated from Loretto School in Edinburgh," her mother reminded her with a soft smile.

"Right," she nodded and tried to recall all she'd learned about the school when she was younger. "Mum?"

"Yes, sweetheart?" she asked softly looking up from her book once again.

"Do you ever wish I had gone there, instead of Hogwarts?"

"Yes and no," she said abandoning her reading altogether. "It would have been a dream to have you attend Loretto and see you go on to Oxford, Cambridge, or St. Andrews if you had been born a muggle. That, obviously, was not the case; so, as reality stands, no. I do not wish for you to have gone there because I love you and I want you to be happy, and a witch cannot truly be herself outside of the magical world. I came to terms with that reality a long time ago. That said, if I had the choice to do things again, I would have sent you to that other school in France, where you would have been safe."

"Godric, no," Hermione shuddered. "Hogwarts was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Then there is nothing to discuss, is there?" her mother smiled. "Go get ready, sweetheart, you will need to fight those lovely locks of yours into submission and that takes time."

"I blame you for marrying dad and his unruly hair!" Hermione accused as she left the room amidst peals of mother's melodic laughter.

* * *

"David and Helen Granger!" an enthusiastic man in his sixties and his statuesque wife approached the Grangers as soon as they entered the festively decorated house. "We are so delighted to have you here tonight!"

"Thank you for the invitation, Alex," her father said in greeting. "Ainara, you look lovely as always."

"Not as lovely as this beautiful young lady," despite being into her late fifties Ainara was so gorgeous that it made Hermione wonder whether the woman in front of her was part veela. "Is this the famous Hermione?"

"Indeed, I am," Hermione greeted with a blush on her cheeks and a smile on her face. "It is very nice to meet you."

"the pleasure is all mine," Ainara smiled, and then turned to the whole family, "please go drink, eat, enjoy, and be merry. Happy holidays to you all."

"Isn't she gorgeous?" her mother said conversationally as they walked into the room.

"So nice, too," Hermione commented back as a she took two champagne flutes from a passing waiter.

"And it is not an act, either," her mother said accepting the bubbly, "I have known her for years now and that woman does not have a single mean bone in her body. That, however, is not the case for Mrs. Cunningham or her daughters," her mother waved from a distance at the women, "be careful."

"Any other advice as to who and what to avoid?" Hermione asked taking a sip from her glass.

"Shall we dance, love?" Her husband asked.

"I'd love to," she nodded and, turning to Hermione to pass on her glass to hold, she added, "Just avoid a public spat with my father."

"I'll try my best."

"Hermione," her mum's tone was cautionary.

"Fine, I swear." She said urging her away, "Go dance with dad, I'll go mingle."

"Ah, there you are," Ainara said an hour later finding her in conversation with a sweet elderly couple that had originally confused her with their great niece. The Chadwicks were now telling her stories from their youths, "Harold, Hortensia, would you mind terribly if I steal Ms. Granger away?"

"Why of course not, dear," the elderly woman said, "she is an absolute pleasure and it would be terribly greedy of us to monopolize her. It was a pleasure to meet you, Hermione."

"Likewise," she smiled at the pair before following after the hostess.

"Lovely people, the Chadwicks, aren't they?" Ainara said conversationally as she led her through the party.

"They truly are," Hermione was happily surprised that things were going so well at the party. The food was great, people were lovely, and the bubbly was top shelf. "I am having quite a lot of fun, actually."

"I am glad, my dear," she said waving passingly to different people.

"There you are! I have been looking for you two," the voice was deep and pleasant, but to Hermione it sounded like nails scratching on a blackboard.

"Lord Cromwell," Ainara said air kissing both of his cheeks, "don't you look dashing?"

"You flatter this old man, but it is you two that are a sight for sore eyes," Hermione fought her need to roll her eyes at her would-be grandfather. "Hermione, my sweet child, I feel like I haven't seen you in years."

"It has been a couple of years," Hermione admitted diplomatically.

"In that case I will leave you two to reconnect!" Ainara said misunderstanding the exchanged as a request for privacy. Before Hermione could ask her to stay, Ainara said, "I will introduce you to the younger crowd later, my dear."

"Great," she mumbled once Ainara was out of earshot.

"So, Hermione," Fitzwilliam asked conversationally, "your parents tell me you are studying to become a doctor now that you have graduated."

"I am currently taking some time off for personal reasons," she informed, "but I am going back after the holidays."

"Well, the medicine track is quite long, Hermione," he said magnanimously, "it would behoove you to get back to it as soon as possible."

"I am quite aware, I assure y—"

"Fitzwilliam Cromwell!" said a familiar voice from behind her, "how do you do, good sir?"

"If it isn't young lord Malfoy!" Hermione, who still had her back to the newcomer, felt her eyes go as round as saucers at the name the old man had just uttered. "Not as well as you, I assure you, my boy." Hermione was still trying to recover from the shock when the blasted man said, "may I introduced you to my beautiful granddaughter?"

"It is lovely to—" his words died in his mouth as soon as Hermione turned to face him. "Granger?"

"Malfoy," They both looked and sounded equal parts shocked and confused.

"Well, then." The old man said looking between the young people. "Pray tell, children, how did the two of you meet?"

"We met in school," Malfoy responded for her. "She was in my year."

"I thought you'd said you had attended St Leonards School, lord Malfoy," Hermione felt her eyes go wide at the mess that was about to ensue.

"I di—"

"Dance with me, Malfoy," she cut in before he could speak, shocking the man into silence.

"Wonderful idea!" Fitzwilliam Cromwell said pushing the blond and his granddaughter in the general direction of the dance floor. He offered her his arm, more as a reflex than a courtesy, and soon enough the pair were dancing to Beethoven's String Quartet No. 13.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" Hermione asked aggressively, her tone accusatory.

"I was invited, of course," he said twirling her.

"To a muggle party?" Hermione asked skeptically, "Why would they invite you?"

"Evidently, I am friendly with these people," he answered cuttingly.

"Since when are you friendly with muggles?" she whisper-shouted in that typical female manner.

"I will admit it is a relatively recent development," he said as the music changed to a piece by Mozart, "but I befriended Fitz over a year ago."

"Makes sense that you two would get along swimmingly," Hermione commented poisonously, but to her surprise Malfoy ignore it.

"So, you are a Cromwell," he stated, breaking the silence after a while. The blond sounded slightly in awe of the situation. "You are practically muggle royalty."

"Not that it is any of your business, Malfoy, but I have little to no contact with that part of my family tree; what is more, I like it that way. Fitzwilliam Cromwell has a much friendlier relationship with you than he will ever have with me," she said moodily. "If he catches fire I am not certain I would conjure an aguamenti to save him. Besides, you are one to talk, _lord_ Malfoy."

"Wow, Granger, don't get your wand in twist," he said chuckling, "it was just an observation. To clarify, though, I do have the nobiliary title, and before you ask, no I did not buy it, I come by the title honestly." At her quizzical eyebrow he added, "it was passed down to me through an ancestor."

"How is that even possible? I thought the Malfoys were notoriously anti-muggle."

"Not that it is any of your business, Granger," he was sassing her over her previous outburst and they both knew it, "but, throughout history and prior to the passing of the Statute of Secrecy, there were Malfoys in the royal courts. There was even one Malfoy who tried to marry Queen Elizabeth the First."

"All hail the virgin Queen," she said, "I shudder at the thought of Malfoys ruling over anything."

"Honestly?" He said with a soft chuckle, "we all should." The music changed again, this time to the Waltz from Coppélia.

"We digress," she said twirling away and back into Malfoy's arms, "we need to get our stories in order."

"Do enlighten me, Granger, what is your story."

"I am Hermione Granger, daughter to David and Helen Granger. Mum's a Cromwell, but she has been estranged from the family over a fight with your buddy Fitzwilliam; what exactly the fight was about, no one knows, despite some people seeming to think it relates to my father. I have asked my mother a few times and all she's ever said was that the fight was about misogyny and the patriarchy. My parents are dentists, but they recently sold their practice and retired."

"How old are your parents, for crying out loud?" Malfoy said trying to calculate based of her age and that of Lord Cromwell.

"They are entering their fifties, but stuff happened, and" she paused as Malfoy twirled her in an elegant fashion, "long story short, after they got back from a trip I sent them on to Australia they were approached by a hotshot developer who needed the lot of land in which my parents' practice had been located. It was the last piece of land he needed, so the developer ended up making an outrageous offer that even my parents couldn't refuse."

"Good for them," Malfoy did not sound condescending, and that disconcerted her.

"Anyway, everyone here thinks I attended Loretto School in Scotland."

"Good," Malfoy nodded, "same."

"What?" Hermione asked confused, "but I thought Fitzwilliam—"

"Fitz was simply confused, Granger," Malfoy smirked. "As far as anyone else here is concerned, I attended Loretto."

"Thank Godric," she said sighing and letting her forehead rest on his shoulder for a second and then, upon realizing what she was doing, she straightened her spine once more.

"Is that all, or do you need to torture me for a fourth song?" Malfoy chuckled sardonically.

"You are such a foul, loathsome, evil—"

"Watch yourself, Granger," Malfoy's words cautioned her, but his demeanor implied he was rather entertained; the man was a contradiction that would cause her to have a conniption any second now. "Some consider going down memory lane flirting."

"You are positively unbearable," Hermione groaned, as the string quartet took on a piece by Bach, "not to mention disgusting," she sighed. "But yes, there is more, I am studying to become a doctor, but I took a break from schooling for personal reasons."

"Because Weasley broke off your engagement," Malfoy added with a nod.

"Who ended the engagement is debatable, Malfoy, but that is neither here nor there, because the only people that know about my engagement here, other than yourself, are my parents; and it is best not to bring it up, my father still has not forgiven him."

"Nor should he," Malfoy said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "That weasel is a study in mediocrity, poor manners, and everything that is wrong in the eyes of polite society. You were too good for him then, you are too good for him now, and everyone that has a pair of eyes in their skull can see it."

"What?" she asked taken aback by his strong opinion on the topic.

"You disagree?" Malfoy continued on unbothered, "You might be the only one. My mother literally cheered when she read the headline announcing the breaking of your engagement. Even his own sister has gone on record agreeing with me. He is a moron, and for the longest time so were you too for dating him. Salazar! The man handles his forks like a shovel, and he only graduated because you were nice enough to push his dead weight through it all! What you ever saw in him will remain a mystery to us all." After his tirade ended, Hermione could only stare at him.

"Follow me," she said finally, when the song came to an end. If either one of them was surprised at the fact that Malfoy had actually listened to her, neither mentioned it. She was about to lead them outside when they were intercepted by the Cunningham women.

"I thought you didn't dance, lord Malfoy," the matriarch sounded bitter.

"It is my personal policy to avoid dancing entirely, Madam," Malfoy admitted to Hermione's surprise. "There are, however, very few people for whom I make an exception."

"And _this_ is one of them?" one of the daughters asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Who are _you _anyway?" Before Hermione could hex the woman seven ways from Sunday, Malfoy cut in.

"Of course, where have manners gone," Malfoy made it infinitely clear he meant those of the rotten women by standing tall and looking down at them. "Miss Malvolia, miss Jezebel, madam Tristana," Hermione's eyes widened, with such horrid names it was a miracle the women were not more virulent really, "allow me to introduce you to the Honourable Hermione Granger."

"The Honourable?" the older woman asked slightly intrigued. "But I have never seen you before. Who claims you, child?" Hermione was ready to go on a tirade when Fitzwilliam Cromwell's voice interrupted.

"As my daughter once very clearly told me, no one can claim another human being as if they were a thing, madam," he asserted looking down his nose at all three of the Cunningham women much in the same way Malfoy was, "but if you wish to so desperately know, Hermione is my granddaughter and sole heiress."

"Lord Cromwell," the woman looked at a loss, "I assure you; I meant no disrespect."

"If you'll excuse us," was all the old man said in response as he led the young pair away. Once out of earshot, he complained "those women are as vile as their names. I am sorry you had to deal with their impertinence, my sweet child."

"We had things under control," Hermione knew she was being difficult for the sake of it, but she just could not help herself.

"Dear me, Granger," Malfoy whispered only to her, "did you just say 'we' were doing something? What is the world coming to?"

"Do you think there will ever come a time when you mature and stop having fun at my expense?" her question was equal parts feisty and curious.

"Perish the thought," he said conspiratorially.

"There they are!" Fitzwilliam Cromwell said spotting Hermione's parents, "Lord Malfoy, allow me to introduce you to my children, Dr. Helen Cromwell Granger, and her husband Dr. David Granger. Helen, David, this is lord Draco Malfoy, he is a friend of Hermione's from school and a personal friend of mine." Hermione knew the moment her parents recognized Malfoy for who he was, for her mum's eyes grew wide as her father's narrowed.

"I do not know whether she would agree with that qualification," Malfoy said politely as he observed her parents.

"I wouldn't," Hermione muttered her confirmation, causing Malfoy to look down at her and away from their company.

"You're feisty," Malfoy observed quietly with a chuckle.

"And you're aggravating," Hermione said through her teeth, staring into his silver orbs.

"And _we _are bickering," he said turning away from her and back to her parents. "I apologize for my rudeness, but this one is quite the spitfire, as I am certain you are aware."

"It's hereditary," her father assured him, "on both sides."

"Fantastic, for I wouldn't have it any other way," Malfoy said smoothly. "I have never met a more intellectually challenging person than your daughter." Hermione wondered how much of what he was saying was meant to be flattery and how much if it was meant to be insult. "I assure you it is an absolute pleasure to meet you both," Malfoy said politely shaking her father's hand and kissing the back of that of her mother.

"Why don't we all sit," Fitzwilliam insisted, "my knees are not what they used to be." They made their way to their table, which had an elegant sign indicating it was meant for the Baron Fitzwilliam Cromwell and family. Hermione considered setting the blasted thing on fire.

"Now, now," Malfoy whispered softly so that only she could hear, "don't go and forget, no magic in front of muggles. But if you absolutely must, I am going to go ahead and suggest incendio since it is a lot easier to explain than a bombarda." She surprised them both by laughing out loud.

"How did you—"

"I have been on the receiving end of that look before," he smirked.

"Aren't you full of surprises tonight, lord Malfoy," Fitzwilliam observed, as Hermione began searching for a waiter, "first dancing, now whispering jokes to my lovely granddaughter. I tell you," he said to Hermione's parents, "I've never met a more circumspect young man than this one."

"I am almost certain Draco was born with a scowl on his face, so I am not surprised," Hermione said distractedly as she tried to make eye contact with one of the servers. The dancing and the champagne, had left her parched and in dire need of water.

"What did you just say?"

"What? Are we going to pretend like you haven't passed the better portion of your life moodily scrunching up your face?" Hermione said as her eyes dance around the room.

"Not that," he said as he distractedly lifted a hand, causing a waiter to appear in a matter of seconds, "since when do you call me Draco?"

"I think I have always referred to you as Draco," Hermione admitted, "just not to your face. Could I please have some water brought over to the table?"

"Of course, miss."

"I didn't know that," the blond said as his brows reached for his hairline and the corners of his mouth for his chin, "huh."

"So, tell us, lord Malfoy, how was it that you became such good friends with my father?"

"Please, call me Draco," the blond smirked, "apparently everyone does."

"I am quite curious to hear this, actually," Hermione admitted.

"Well, we met last year at an event much like this one, it was after we graduated from Loretto," he explained turning to her. "Following my father's funeral last fall, I became head of the family and assumed responsibility of all of our businesses. After cleaning house and getting everything in order, I went on the hunt for a partner with whom to begin a business venture. That's when a mutual friend, Ludovica Zabini, who you might know is Blaise Zabini's mother, introduced us and as they say, the rest is history."

"What was the business?" Hermione asked him.

"Rare plants," Fitzwilliam answered. "Import and export, all in connection with the medical industry here in England and in Scotland. My office oversees the England operation while he handles the Scottish deals." Before anyone else could say more on the topic dinner was served, effectively ending all interesting conversation for the rest of the night.

* * *

"Thank you so much for coming tonight, and for your putting your faith in me," MP Baker said to Hermione's family as they prepared to leave.

"Our pleasure," her father assured the man.

"It was an absolutely amazing night, Ainara," her mother complimented once more.

"I am glad you all had a good time," the hostess said graciously.

"I was so sorry that I couldn't come find you after," Hermione apologized as she put on her coat, "you said you wanted to introduce me to someone?"

"Oh, but you did meet!" Ainara said, "the moment I met you tonight something just told me that you and lord Malfoy would hit it off swimmingly and I was right."

"You wanted to introduce me to Draco?"

"Yes, well, at the time I didn't know you had known each other for years," Ainara chuckled goodheartedly. "You were the envy of all the young women at the party, you know."

"Was I now?" the woman nodded.

"You most definitely were. As handsome and friendly as he is, I'm sure you've heard that lord Malfoy rarely uses his time at parties to do anything other than talk business. It has become a known fact in our circles. Tonight, however, he was dancing and laughing and had eyes only for you." Hermione's mother's Mercedes sedan was brought up by one of the valets, "the time has come for us to part, but I do hope to see you at our next party, dear," Ainara said sending her off, "good night, Hermione."

"Hermione," her mother began once they were all on their way home. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't tonight's Draco Malfoy the same one that tormented you when you were younger?"

"The one and only," she confirmed.

"I am so confused, though," her mother continued baffled, "you were both rather friendly tonight."

"In our own way," she nodded as she looked out the window at the passing scenery.

"I don't get it," her father complained.

"Me either," she admitted to them.

* * *

The morning after boxing day found Hermione opening her bedroom's window to allow in a huge owl she recognized as belonging to Madam Malkin; the majestic bird was carrying a packet that looked rather heavy.

"Good morning, Hermes," she greeted with a smile. "You must be exhausted. Here, make yourself at home," she gestured in the direction of the owl perch, treats, and water her parents kept in stock for her use when she was at home." The owl was all too soon snoozing off, it's head under its wing to provide some respite from the blinding brightness coming in through the window. Turning excitedly in the direction of the parcel she had just received, she called on her mother to join her for the big reveal.

"Let's see it," her mother was excited to see the custom-made piece Madam Malkin had created for her daughter. Hermione dug into the packet ferociously, however she stopped abruptly, and her face fell into a confused frown.

"What?" her mother inquired, "is the color wrong? I told you it would be tricky to get that exact shade—" Helen Granger was shocked to see her daughter pulling out what she was fairly certain was the magic equivalent of a suit. "That's… different."

"I think Metis might have gotten her packages mixed up," Hermione said looking for any indication as to who the robes belonged.

"There's a card here," her mother said as she unceremoniously opened the envelope, read its contents, and laughed passing it on to her daughter. "Do you believe in destiny, sweetheart?"

"You have got to be kidding me!" she groaned in an unladylike manner.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy, _

_I hope these robes are to your liking. It is good to have your business back after so many years._

_Sincerely, _

_Madam M. Malkin._

"You must admit," her mum chuckled, "it is quite a hilarious situation."

"You are mean one, Dr. Granger," she accused.

"Oh, please; young people, I swear," she said rolling her eyes, "perpetually drowning in puddles. It is not that big a deal, dear. Why don't you just owl the man so that you can exchange packages." As soon as the words left the older woman's mouth, a southern white-faced owl appeared at the window, pecking at it. Hermione had no doubt who the sleek-looking bird belonged to.

"Do you think that's him?" her mother asked.

"Most certainly," she confirmed, "I don't even need to read the missive to know."

"And?" her mum prompted as Hermione reached for the elegant envelope addressed in a flourish to one 'Ms. Granger Cromwell'.

"Arse," she muttered tearing the green seal imprinted with the Malfoy crest.

_Good morning, _

_I can only hope you have not obliterated this letter over my small joke, for I still need my robes. As I am sure you have deduced already, our parcels got mixed up and I am in reception of a dress that, though quite beautiful, is not exactly what I had in mind when I placed my order. _

_Your grandfather, who happened to be over for breakfast, offered to bring your dress over to you, but I convinced him to let me do it. Ironically, I think this will be more to your pleasing. Fitzwilliam has given me your parents' address, and I will be dropping by at noon unless you instruct otherwise. _

_Draco L. Malfoy _

"And?" her mum asked again, to which Hermione answered by passing over the letter. "See? He is coming over at noon to deliver the dress," she said this as if it was perfectly normal for the bouncing ferret to come hang out with her at her muggle parents' home.

"I feel like I am in an alternate reality," she said shaking her head.

"Sweetheart," her mum laughed, "when did you become this dramatic?"

"This is what Draco Malfoy does," Hermione said dropping on her bed with an annoyed sigh, "he upsets everything."

"I see."

"What?" Hermione said twisting her neck to read her mum's face.

"Well, sweetheart," her mother stopped herself, "actually, never mind. You are quite bright, I'm sure you will figure it out. I'll be in the sunroom with a cuppa if you need me."

"I don't like your tone!" Hermione shouted after her mother's retreating figure.

* * *

It was five minutes to noon and Hermione, much to her embarrassment, was sat at the window, with a book on her lap and her eyes splitting time between the driveway and the floo. She needed not be told she was acting pathetically, for she felt it in her bones; her mother's pointed, passing glances from her seat on the couch, though, sassed her.

"Hermione, for the love of God," she said again, "get away from that window, you are going to catch a cold waiting."

"Warming charm," she admitted sheepishly in a mumble.

"This is simply too rich," Helen said to herself as she refocused her attention on the article she was reading on temporomandibular joint syndrome. Hermione's response died on her lips when she saw a rather flashy car driving up to the home. "Go open the door, child," her mum said snapping her out of her staring.

"You really shouldn't be speeding in the snow," where the first words out of her mouth as soon as the platinum-haired man stepped out of his car.

"Thank you for the wisdom, mother," he said reaching inside his car for a huge bag that she could only assume was her dress. "Coming through," he announced as he rushed out of the cold and into the warm house.

"Do come in," she said sarcastically as she closed the door behind him.

"I am not about to freeze my a—"

"Lord Malfoy," Helen said joining them in the foyer, "welcome to our home."

"Please," he said taking off his Ray Ban Clubmaster sunglasses and his leather driving gloves, "I must insist you call me Draco, Dr. Granger. There is just something that is simply inherently wrong with hearing you call me by my title."

"Very well, Draco, then I am Helen," her mother announced. "Will you be joining us for lunch?"

"Oh! I am flattered," he looked at the younger Granger for guidance, but her face was absolutely neutral, "I guess that would be up to you?"

"In that case," Helen said turning in the direction of the dining room, "I will be adding another place at the table while Hermione takes your coat and puts the dress upstairs."

"Well, well, well," he began only to be cut off by the curly hair witch.

"Not another word from you," she said point at his face with her index finger. "Here, I'll hold the dress while you take off your layers."

"It weighs a ton and half," he cautioned passing it over to her. Hermione had to agree.

"Godric, what is this dress made out of, Kevlar?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of cement," he said stretching his shoulders. "Trade you," he said passing over his black coat and silver scarf. After she had put it all away she made to take the dress back from him, but he refused. "I'll carry it, just lead the way."

"There's no need—"

"Listen, we can either do this the easy way and you show me the way, or we can bicker here for a few minutes and then you show me the way," he smirked, "either way you are not carrying this. My mother would have my hide if I let you carry this."

"You are being ridiculous," she huffed.

"Lead. the. way." Annoyedly she extended her arm in the direction of the staircase. "Thank you."

"Whatever," she mumbled, and pulled her sweater over her hands and cross her arms over her chest.

"Huh," he said a minute later upon entering her room.

"What?" she inquired defensively, looking around as well.

"I don't know," he said walking around. "This is not what I expected for your room, is all."

"What did you expect?"

"Seventy million books and at least a hint of Gryffindor pride somewhere?" he said taking in the cream and grey tones of his surroundings.

"And that was my room," she agreed, "when I was fourteen and still in school!" she laughed at him. "I still have Gryffindor sweaters which I wear to bed or to cuddle up in our home library, where my seventy million books are stored."

"Swot."

"If I recall correctly you are quite the swot yourself," she commented knowingly. "You were second in our class, and you did not gain all those nonverbal and wandless magic skills you used to send your little notes by osmosis."

"This is quite a nice house you have yourselves, here," he said ignoring her and walking over to the window. "Tell me, do your friends know you are well-off?"

"I wonder what your mother would do to you if she knew you engage in such impolite conversation," she mused.

"Death by sectumsempra, no doubt," he chuckled pulling his keys out of his pocket and remotely locking his car. It did not escape Hermione's notice that the machine was the exact same quicksilver shade as his eyes. She was certain he had made it so by design.

"If you are worried about my being richer than you, don't," she laughed at him, "you come out ahead of me for once, albeit by slight margin."

"Funny," he said to her. "You know, you are not what I expected."

"I think we have established quite clearly that we don't really know each other very well, Malfoy" He said nothing, choosing instead to smirked down at her.

"Hermione!" Helen Granger's voice called from downstairs, "lunch is served."

"Shall we?" he offered her his arm.

"Come on, _lord_ Malfoy," she sassed, ignoring his arm but softly clapping him in the back in a friendly gesture.

"Draco Malfoy," her father greeted politely, "to what do we owe this honor?"

"There was a mixup in shipping at Madam Malkin's, sir," he explained, "which reminds me, this," an envelope materialized onto his hand, "came with your parcel. I apologize for opening it, but—"

"I opened yours too," she interrupted. "Here," she said pulling out of the pocket of her jeans. After reading his letter, the blond frowned.

"How come you get a three-part symphony and I get a 'it is good to have your business back'?" he pouted moodily making Hermione laugh.

"Probably because I am not an irreparable git with a superiority complex and an ego that comes in the door five minutes ahead of me," she laughed out loud.

"Hermione Jean," Helen reprimanded. "That is not how we talk to our guest—"

"Maybe not," the blond granted as he narrowed his eyes playfully, "but you are an insufferable know-it-all with a proclivity for annoying the living daylights out of people with your insatiable need to proof your worth."

"Twit," she accused.

"Numpty," he countered.

"Prat," she pushed.

"Nincompoop," he chuckled.

"Good one," she commended as her parents observed the exchange in bafflement.

"And the house cup goes to Slytherin House." the blond cheered enthusiastically as he emulated a roaring crowd.

"Do you…?" David Granger asked his wife.

"Uh-huh."

"I don't like it," he whispered making the woman laugh as she began serving the food.

* * *

"So, am I to assume that you will be reentering society at the Minister's ball?" The former Slytherin asked as Hermione gave him a tour of the home at her mother's behest and much to her father's discontent.

"You know I am," she said looking up at him. "You read Metis' letter."

"True," he nodded as they walked down a long hallway that lead to the library, "but that does not necessarily negate the fact that you might have changed your mind."

"When have you ever known me to change my mind?" she chuckled.

"I thought we had established that we don't know each other," he said cheekily.

"No one changes _that_ much," she said knocking her shoulder into his arms playfully.

"For some reason," he admitted, "that statement brought me some comfort."

"This is my respite from chaos," she said ushering him in with a sigh after arriving at the oak double doors.

"Sighing again," he observed as he looked around the room, pulling out a couple of books here and there, "what has you so upset?"

"Are we going to start having heart-to-hearts now?" Hermione asked, slightly baffled.

"If you can keep it a secret," he said taking out a tome and going to one of the leather couches in the room, "I do have a good name to protect."

"What good name?"

"You wound me, Hermione," he said placing a hand over his heart, as she felt unsettling chills go through her at the sound of her name. "Freaky, isn't it?" He said noticing her reaction.

"Indeed," she admitted walking to sit on the other end of the couch, turning to face him.

"Believe me, I understand you," he said opening the book. "The other night I nearly jumped out of my seat at dinner when you called me Draco."

"I wonder if this what being an adult means?" she asked not really expecting an answer.

"I think being an adult means different things for different people, right?" He said as he read the book.

"Elaborate," she encouraged.

"Well, take my friend group, for example," he said looking up at her. "For me, being an adult means having grown out of the bigoted views that were drilled into my head from a young age, developing my own worldview, and making amends with people. For Blaise, however, it meant working on his relationship with his mother. Don't even get me started on Pansy and Theodore and their creating a home together that is unlike the shite ones in which they grew up."

"Parkinson and Nott are together?" Hermione asked a bit shocked.

"Their married, in fact," he confirmed, "and expecting my first godchild."

"Poor child."

"Oh, come on!" he said sending one of the cushions flying her way, "I am not that bad."

"Maybe not anymore," her admission stunned them both a bit.

"This is it," Draco said recovering after a bit.

"What?" she said fussing with the cushion he had thrown at her.

"This moment in time," he said gesturing around the room, "I almost feel like history was made."

"What are you going on about?" she asked throwing the cushion back his way.

"Well," he said catching her eyes with his, "you, Hermione Granger, and I, Draco Malfoy," he paused, "have become friendly."

"Merlin help us," she said dropping forward, face first, into the couch with a grown.

"Oh, come on, Hermione," he elongated the syllables that made up her given name, "worse things have happened," he assured her as he got close to whisper, "you once agreed to marry a weasel."

"I shouldn't laugh at that," she mumbled as she chuckled into the couch.

"I disagree," he said returning his attention to the tome as Hermione shifted into a lying position on the couch, her unruly mane grazing the blond's thigh.

"What have you got there?" she asked trying to read the front cover from where she was now resting.

"The Winter's Tale," he said turning the book in her direction. "Did you know there's a character named Hermione?"

"Of course, I do!" she said rolling her eyes, "I was named after that character."

"Huh," he said passing the book over to her, after she gestured for him to do so.

"Ready?" Hermione asked.

"Here," Draco instructed for her to rest her head on the cushion he had propped against his lap. At her unconvinced gaze, he added, "it's not a marriage proposal, Granger."

"Fine," she said, quickly taking her place and hiding her blush in the pages of the book. "Act I, Scene I, Antechamber in Leontes' palace," she began reading Shakespeare's romance. "Enter Camillo and Archidamus."

* * *

"Good Paulina, lead us from hence, where we may leisurely each one demand an answer to his part perform'd in this wide gap of time since first" Hermione felt as Draco continued to play with one of her curls. It had happened at some point between acts III and IV, but she had not said a word about it. "we were dissever'd: hastily lead away. Exeunt."

"That was brilliant," Draco observed in a pleased voice.

"That's Shakespeare for you," Hermione voice, which was hoarse at this point, answered.

"I told you to let me read after a while," he said pulling on her hair playfully.

"Hush," she said closing the book, hugging it her chest, and closing her eyes with a satisfied sigh. "Don't go bursting my happy bubble now."

"Fire is dying out again," he observed. "Should I?"

"Please," she nodded cuddling into the blanket she had called from her room with an accio. He levitated a few fresh logs into the hearth with his wand, only to set them on fire with a quick indencio charm.

"Isn't it disquieting?" Hermione asked after a while.

"What is?" he was now in the process of uncurling a particularly curly strand of the former Gryffindor's hair.

"That we get along so well," she said finally opening her eyes to look up at the blond.

"I know you won't want to think much about what I'm about to say," Draco shrugged, "but, as things stand at this very moment, you and I have more in common than you do with any other person we know from school."

"Is that so?" she challenged.

"Afraid so," he nodded, "I shall prove it to you. Give me a nonbiased, objective description of me without any sass."

"Are you serious?" she snorted. He gestured at her to get on with it, so she did. "Fine. Whatever." She hummed, "You are, I don't know, you are Draco Malfoy."

"Great observational skills," he sassed.

"Prat," she answered reflexively, as she tried again, "you are… complicated. Wait, no, that's not exactly, it." She was unblinkingly staring at him. "you are complex. It's almost like there are layers or facets to you; even the face you show to the world these days is complex. Baker's party, for example, you presented yourself as both a businessman and a lord, somehow balancing shrewdness and elegance. You hold yourself out to be approachable and likeable, but you also keep this distance between you and people that surround you. Women swoon over you, but you no longer care to keep a fan club, choosing instead to focus on other things."

"What else?" he asked neutrally.

"You are caring friend," she observed sitting up to face him. "You did not say as much, but the way you talked about Zabini, Nott and Parkinson… you love them, don't you?"

"I am known to care for them, now and again," he smirked, but his eyes stayed gentle.

"See, you're doing it again; you are setting boundaries," she said pleased with herself. "You are also intellectual. You sat through some hundred-odd pages worth of Shakespeare without struggling to keep up." She sighed to herself, as she continued, "you drive a car, mingle with muggles, you shop at Saville Row."

"How in the world did you know that?" his eyes were wide with wonder.

"I cheated on that one," she giggled as she went onto explain what she thought at the time had been a strange hallucination she had had in front of Henry Poole & Co. "I was certain I was going barmy."

"Can't really blame you," he shrugged. "All done, then?"

"For now," she nodded.

"So, we have," he began enumerated with his fingers, "complicated or complex, shrewd but elegant, approachable and likeable but distant somehow, career-minded, caring friend, intellectual, and muggle-friendly." She nodded again. "Granger, please tell me you see the parallels."

"I admit to similarities!" she granted laughing, "but I could say the same things about Harry or Gin, for example."

"Neither one is as smart as either one of us," he dismissed, "besides Potter is a quidditch player by trade, which is hardly an intellectual pursuit. Also, I wouldn't say little Weasley is approachable necessarily, nor is she muggle-friendly to the same degree I am, I drive a car and go to muggle parties."

"Is there a point to this game?" she asked shaking her head at the ridiculousness of the situation.

"Yes. No. Sort of, " He shrugged. "The point is, we have stuff in common and it's only natural for us to get along."

"And to think all it took was a war for it to happen," she said conversationally.

"Feisty," he flicked her nose. "In any case," he said, getting on his feet. "I should probably head on home, it's a bit of a drive from here to Wiltshire."

"Oh, right," she tried not to sound too disappointed as she walked him out.

"Sad to see me go, Ms. Granger?" he poked fun at her once they were at the main foyer.

"Wouldn't you like that," she rolled her eyes at him.

"Aw, come on," she said winking at her, "it's all in good fun. Besides, you'll see me soon enough."

"Will I, now?" she asked sassily.

"You will," he nodded as if it was obvious. "After all, I will be escorting to the Minister's party."

"Aren't you full of bold assumptions today, Mr. Malfoy." She silently wondered whether the aristocratic man had turned the bend.

"Listen," he said putting on his coat, "we both know that you are going to be a nervous mess that day."

"I will not—"

"Yes, you will," he kept going. "Between the press and the onlookers, anyone else would too. You will have Potter and little Weasley there, but at some point they will go off to dance or snog and you will be left alone to be gawked at." She chewed at her lip nervously, "plus, we both know that He-Whose-Bollocks-Ought-Be-Cruciod-Off will be there." He smirked at her snort. "Besides, you are going to tell me that you are not dying to see his face go all rainbow superstar as soon as he sees us together there?"

"Oh my god," she cackled loudly, as tears fell from the corners of her eyes. "Where do you come up with these things?"

"I've always been like this, really," he shrugged. "Remember my greatest hit, the 'Weasley is our King' song? How about the buttons I made to go with it? Or the millions of nicknames I came up with on the fly for the Ginger Chav."

"That's just mean," Hermione said shaking her head, feeling slightly bad for being so entertained.

"Accept it, Hermione," he said putting on his driving gloves and scarf, "I am the most annoyingly smart and artistic little shite you've ever met."

"The only thing that remains is to thank heaven you are the worst of the lot," she said as she walked him up to the door.

"So?" he asked turning to face her, "what shall it be?"

"Floo in at seven p.m.," she said after a while, "leave the death trap at home," she gestured at the car sitting on her driveway.

"That's an Aston Martin, not a death trap," he chuckled as he leaned down to peck her cheek. "Have a good night, bookworm."

"Sleep tight, ferret," she called after him.

* * *

"Do you need any help, darling?" her mum asked as she came up behind her. "Draco should be here any moment now."

"Just tell me if the back of my dress looks right to you," Hermione said as she put yet another charm on her hair to make sure it would remain neatly fastened in the chignon at the nape of her neck."

"It looks perfect to me," she assured her daughter. "Will you be wearing any jewelry other than your solitaire pendant and studs?"

"No, I want to keep it simple since the dress is so involved," she gestured at the way the back of her dress plunged down to waist-height in a perfect V. "Between the dress and my crystal Pigalle heels, I think I need to keep my makeup and jewelry minimalist."

"Good call," her mother approved.

"Hermione!" her father's voice called from downstairs. "Your date is here!"

"Is he trying to embarrass me to death?" she asked her mother, mortified, which only made the woman laugh at her. "Fine, laugh," Hermione complained, "but do it on your way downstairs. The last thing I need is for dad to scare the git away."

"Sure thing, sweetheart," her mother blew her a kiss, and left to do her bidding.

"You can do this, Hermione," she said to her reflection. "You have faced death eaters, you have been tortured, you have survived much worse than this." She looked apprehensive even to her own eyes, "it's just a party." Lifting the front of her floor-length gown, she left her room.

"There she is," her father said as soon as he spotted her in the staircase, a gigantic smile on his face. Draco turn away from the couple so that he could look at his date. It was quite comic for Hermione to see his eyes widen as his jaw drop the slightest bit. After nearly a decade of knowing him, she knew that such a reaction from the blond was tantamount of another man falling on his arse.

"Aren't you a vision in silver, darling," her father complimented, bringing Draco out of his shock. He quickly met her at the bottom of the stairs and helped her down the last couple of steps.

"Hi," she greeted him shily when he stayed quiet. "Fancy meeting you here," he nodded in response.

"You look absolutely ravishing," though he said it softly, Hermione heard him loud and clear. "I am honored to be accompanying you."

"Photo, you two," her mum called excitedly gesturing for them to stand together.

"Mum, I hardly think that's necessary and he probably doesn't—"

"No, please, by all means don't let me stop you," Draco interrupted her. "In fact, I have been instructed by my mother and aunt Andromeda to take at least one photograph together tonight," as he said this, he produced a wizarding camera out of thin air with his wand. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Anything for our parents, I guess," she said turning in the direction of her mum. They posed for a few photos while the magical camera snapped away every few seconds.

"You are extremely stiff," Draco whispered to her, "don't make me tickle you, bookworm."

"You wouldn't da—" she exploded with uncontrollable laughter as his fingers danced over her ribs. Soon they were laughing and holding onto each other like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Enough," Hermione said as she pushed him away playfully. "You're such a git."

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," Draco said pinching her nose softly.

"Oh, you've been reading the book!" she said excitedly.

"You gifted it to me," he said as if it were obvious he would read it, "what did you expect?"

"I don't know," she said with a smile. "Let's just say that in the past the books I gift people end up either neglected or as coffee table pieces."

"Clearly better company is in order if that is the case," he said vanishing the magical camera away. "Are you bringing an evening bag?"

"Here it is," her mum said passing over the silver clutch.

"Let's go now before I lose my nerve," Hermione encouraged as she held onto his arm. They sidelong apparated with a resounding crack.

By the time they arrived at the party most of the photographers were idling around the red carpet with a couple of members of the press who remaining outside to greet latecomers. It was obvious that most of the people in attendance had already made their way inside. Hermione took a deep breath and put some steel into her spine, she was going to stand tall even if it killed her.

"You will be the envy of all," Draco assured from their hidden apparition point.

"Because I came with you?" she guessed.

"Because you are breathtaking, smart, and everything every witch hopes to be one day," he said honestly as his intense gaze stole the air from her lungs.

"Har, har," she said after recovering.

"It was not joke, Hermione," he assured her seriously, slightly offended by her reaction.

"I know," she admitted with a sigh, "I just don't think I can deal with Draco Malfoy calling me breathtaking just this minute," she was a nervous wreck, but it would only be noticeable to those that knew her well.

"Just take slow breaths," his voice was velvet soft, "and if it gets to be too much, just focus on me, okay?" they nodded together and stepped out of their hidden location.

"Is that…?" one voice asked as soon as they set foot on the red carpet.

"MS. GRANGER!" another voice shouted for her attention, effectively waking up all the sharks. "Where have you been?"

"Are you together, Mr. Malfoy?" a disembodied male voice asked as they posed.

"Who are you wearing, Hermione?" yet another voice called as what felt like millions of flashes went off, effectively blinding them. "What about you, Draco?"

"Is Mr. Malfoy the reason your wedding got called off, Ms. Granger?" Hermione's hand tightened like a vice on Draco's arm at that question.

"Esteemed members of the press," Draco voice silenced them all as more photos were taken, "Ms. Granger has a right to her privacy, and you would all do well to remember that. As for your other question, Madam Metis Malkin was nice enough to create both my emerald dress robes and Ms. Granger's dress." his voice gave away no indication as to whether he felt any which way.

"Should we expect to see more of the two of you together?" Asked a petite woman in a black dress.

"That is for us to know and you to guess," Hermione finally spoke up.

"Now, if you will excuse us," Draco hit them with his signature smirk, "I'd like to escort my date inside."

* * *

"You just had to, didn't you?" The witch's chastisement was made less effective by her chuckle.

"I have no idea what it is you are referring to," he said calmly as he guided her in the direction of the Minister's ballroom. It was very similar to the one at Malfoy Manor, except that the decorations were more on the gaudier side, while those at Draco's home were refined and tasteful.

"Dumb is not a role that suits you," she said wittily as two ushers opened the double doors for them. The members of the press that were allowed inside to document the annual bash started snapping pictures as soon as they spotted the unlikely pair, but in a much less aggressive manner than the ones outside. "I think every single pair of eyes in this room is looking at us," she said a bit breathlessly.

"Just look at me," Draco said looking down at her. When their eyes connected he did something she had never seen him do before; he gave her an honest-to-Godric, full-on smile. She felt faint for a second, but she was grounded by the feeling of Draco's arm snaking around her waist. "We can leave if you want to, just say the word." Taking a look around the room at the staring faces, all displaying different levels shock, her eyes finally landed on a flabbergasted Harry Potter, who stood next to his redheaded girlfriend. Ginevra Weasley, for her part, looked like she was holding a fuming Ronald Weasley at wand point.

"You were right," Hermione whispered looking up at Draco as she laughter shook with nerves, "Ron's face has gone through half the colors of the rainbow already." Her comment caused him to let out a hearty chuckle that shocked the onlookers.

"What in the world…?" she heard Padma Patil ask her sister.

"Dance with me, Malfoy," Hermione said as the orchestra began playing Khachaturian's Masquerade Suite. Draco whisked her away to the vacant dance floor, where they proceeded to lose themselves to the enthralling tune. It was as if the entire world disappeared, and all that existed was the music and their bodies, which moved in perfect synchrony. Hermione felt like the most gracious of ballerinas as Draco expertly twirled her around the sprawling dancefloor.

"As much as I would love to dance all night," Draco said as the song neared its end, "I am afraid we have already been much too rude by not greeting our host." Hermione wanted to disagree, but she knew he was right.

"Let's go straight to Kingsley," she said with a nod as soon as he began ushering her away, his hand softly touching her naked back.

"Ms. Granger, Mr. Malfoy," the Minister welcomed them once they reached him, "you two certainly take after your dear old headmaster, don't you? What an entrance you two made tonight!"

"We are so sorry," Hermione began, "we should have said hello first thing."

"Nonsense," the tall man batted away at her apology. "I'm just glad someone was finally daring enough to start off the dancing," he said gesturing at the dancefloor, where a few couples were now showing their moves."

"You are much too kind, Minister," Draco nodded formally.

"I am just glad you both could make it," Minister Shacklebolt assured them. "Don't let her run away into hiding again, Mr. Malfoy; that's an order from your Minister for Magic."

"I will try my best, sir," the blond smirked. "If you'll excuse us?"

"Go have fun, you two," he said dismissing them.

"Would you like something to drink?" Draco asked as he led her away from the larger crowd and nearby the doors that led out onto a terrace.

"Maybe it is better stay sober for the—" she did not finish her sentence as she saw a very angry Ronald Weasley hiss out her name as he approached them. "On second thought," she said dragging the blond out and away from the majority of the prying eyes that surrounded them.

"What do you think you are doing?" the redhead was seething when he finally reached them.

"Walk away, Weasley," Draco cautioned in a bored tone.

"Or what, Malfoy?" Ron voice was filled with poison, "you will attack me?"

"Me?" Draco asked, "why would I do such a thing? Hermione is perfectly capable of wiping the floor with your peasant arse."

"What did you call her?" Ron asked, gobsmacked. Draco's only answer was a roll of his mercury eyes.

"Walk away, Ron," Hermione repeated her date's words, "I have nothing to say to you."

"You can't be serious right now!" he shouted outraged.

"So uncouth," Draco lamented. As the Malfoy heir turned them to leave, Ron's hand shot out from his side and grasped Hermione by the arm, which was covered by a sleeve that went down three quarters.

"Let go of me, Ron," Hermione's voice sounded strained, and Draco hoped, for the sake and wellbeing of the penniless clown, that he was not hurting her.

"What did you do to her?" Ron accused, ignoring the witch. "did you imperio her?"

"Only average, weak-minded people such as yourself can be put under that curse, weaselbee," Draco informed him in a deadly voice. "Hermione has real strength of character and would never succumb to such a thing. Now get your grimy paw off of my date before it is blasted into another dimension."

"Let her go, Ron," Harry Potter said joining what was becoming a scene that belonged under a circus tent and not at a dignified affair hosted by the Ministry.

"Better listen to your lord and savior, Weasel King," Draco warned again.

"Are you really here with him as your date, Hermione?" Ron sounded revolted. "I guess that explains the Slytherin colors."

"Not that is any of your business," Hermione snapped, gesturing at Harry and his girlfriend to let her fight this battle on her own, "but that was coincidental; and yes, I am here with Draco as my date."

"I am her preferred company these days," Draco said as he physically, and forcefully, removed Ron's offending hand. "We made quite a splash at a muggle society event on Christmas Eve," taunting the idiot was so easy at times that Draco wondered whether it was even worth it. "I am sure there is a picture of us with David, Helen and Fitzwilliam somewhere. I will make sure to send you a copy."

"So, I guess the truth finally comes out, huh?" Ron's face was scrunched up in disgust, "your snooty family wanted someone more like them, moneyed and aristocratic, and you just went off like a slag and offered yourself up to Malfoy on a platter." The sound of Hermione's infamous slap resounded loudly as more people from the inside began stepping out onto the terrace, adding to the circus show.

"How dare you speak a single unbecoming word about my family," Hermione censured. "My parents did nothing but welcome you into their lives. Say what you will about me, I do not give a damn, frankly, but you will not drag my family's name through the mud, Ronald."

"They never accepted me, and you know it!" Ron accused.

"Lies," Hermione said bitterly. "They just refused to let you circumscribe my world to minding the home and rearing children. That is not who I am, nor is it who I will ever be. And when I made that clear to you on my birthday and I told you to get with the program or get out of my life, you packed your bags." Gasps flew all over the moderate crowd that had formed out in the terrace that, though big enough to hold around thirty people, was nearly at capacity.

"Well you didn't stop me, did you?" her ex-fiancé snapped. "You just ran away and into the bouncing ferret's arms!"

"Better his than yours!" Hermione shot back, "Draco does not need me to hold his hand through every single task he undertakes; never have I had to mind him like a mother her child."

"Salazar, Ginger Sensation," Draco clicked his tongue, entertained, "have you any redeeming qualities left in you?"

"Shut up, Malfoy, or I will bash your face in."

"And what, exactly, will you gain from attempting that," the blond asked with a mocking smirk, "other than making a fool out of yourself even more and Hermione never speaking to you ever again for hurting the handsome features she seems to be so fond of?"

"You two deserve each other," Ron spat at them and walked away in the direction of the closest floo, "I'm out of here!"

"Finally, a decision I can back," Draco said as he turned to mind Hermione as the peanut gallery went back to the conversations they had abandoned over the commotion. "Can I just say how proud I am of you?"

"For causing a huge scene, for assaulting Ron," she listed, "or for not calling you out on making it sound like we are a couple?"

"All of the above in various degrees," he smirked. "You are an amazing woman, terrifying, but amazing."

"Oh gods," Hermione said dropping her face into her hands. "I can just see the headlines now—"

"Don't," Draco and Harry said at the same time. "Potter," the Slytherin acknowledged the incoming couple, "Little Weasley."

"Hermione," her best friend asked as she stepped away from the raven-haired man who was busy rubbing away at his iconic scar, "not to sound like my arsehole of a brother, but what is going on? You disappeared for months and then I get a letter from you telling me not to tell anyone you will be coming—"

"You knew?" Harry interjected shocked only to be ignored.

"—and the next thing I know is that you are in matching outfits with Malfoy. I'm sorry but you have to explain this one to me. We are talking about Draco bloody Malfoy, Hermione."

"I'm fairly sure his middle name is Lucius," Hermione's answer made her date chuckle as he drew her closer to him and out of the way of a passerby.

"You're sense of humor can be so lame, bookworm," he said, earning himself a slap to the solar plexus. "Vicious," he accused out of breath.

"You are happy," Harry observed after seeing them interact, "aren't you?" Hermione shrugged, so he continued. "Malfoy makes you happy."

"True to form, Potter," Draco sighed, "you have your facts all twisted up."

"I," Hermione emphasized, "make myself happy; Draco is just…"

"Along for the ride?" Draco supplied.

"Right," she nodded.

"The truth is, Potter," their childhood nemesis explained, "that Hermione and I are only getting to know each other, and slowly at that; and no, Weasley, we are not a couple despite what I fooled your dimwitted brother into believing. We are friendly with each other in our own way and where that leads, well, that is for us to know and for you to guess," he said, citing Hermione's earlier statement to the press. Hermione laughed melodiously as she took his hand in hers.

"Dance with me, Malfoy."


End file.
